The Fall
by MissWinkles
Summary: She's got a bulletproof heart but he's got a hollow point smile. He's a gathering storm. A spark in the darkness. A bruised heart just waiting to happen. At rock bottom, Bella Swan has nowhere to fall but everything to lose.
1. Prologue

The house lights dim.

With a shake of my head I dismiss tall and pouty as she nears me, flashing a set of whitened teeth behind blood-red lips. She's nice, but not my style.

I don't know why I'm here. Boredom, I suppose.

I'm just _so_ bored.

The crowd continues to make noise, but now it's hushed –like someone has turned the volume down. The air is hazy, the cigar and artificial smoke mingling to create something new but just as distasteful. The lights are low enough to create secret corners, and to keep hidden the secrets that they contain.

A moment later, red light floods the stage, bathing the room and its occupants in crimson light. The condensation from my drink drips lazily down the side of my glass, dribbling over my fingers.

And then she appears.

She steps on stage, her skin lit red from above, and the air snaps and shifts around me. Suddenly the whole club is at attention, like all the air has been sucked out of the place with one breath. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as she swings her hips to one side as the first drum beat of the song thumps through the speakers. There's a collective exhale—a sigh—as she begins to move, rolling her body with the beat. Feedback-heavy guitar follows a second later and it's like the temperature in the room rises. I can feel the sweat begin to seep into the palms of my hands.

Something about her is different.

I know it. She knows it. The whole goddamn place knows it.

She is mesmerizing, accompanied by nothing but a simple guitar riff and the kind of voice that's part punk rock, part rock goddess. With her skin covered in nothing but black lace and colored light, something about her makes me unable to move, blink, breathe.

She is raw.

She is powerful.

She's sin in six-inch heels.

She's dangerous.

The drum beat thumps so hard that the club trembles. The ice in my glass clinks against the tumbler, and the blood in my veins vibrates violently until I feel like I'm shaking inside.

I shouldn't be here—God knows I have other places I should be—yet, here I am, unable to move even if I wanted to.

Her blonde hair brushes her lower back and hangs in curtains over each of her breasts while her delicate hands flutter over ivory-colored skin. Her movements are graceful and seductive, and I can't tell if it's the music thumping in my chest or my heart.

Maybe it's both.

She rolls her hips and dips low on impossibly long legs. The fuzzy guitar screams over the speakers and the collar of my shirt is too tight, the cuffs, the buttons down my chest—I'm burning up in my own skin. Her presence has squeezed all of the air from my lungs, and all I want is never to breathe again. Even with a room full of people it feels like every move she makes is for me—like we're the only ones here.

Strong thighs and arms work together and it's more than a stripper on a pole—it's fucking acrobatics and agility, the power of her confidence sexier than the barely there outfit she has on. She turns, her lips curved into a smile over her shoulder, and the heart-shaped face and dark eyes hit me like a freight train to the chest.

Not her.

Anyone but her.

She's too good to be here of all places.

With deft hands, she slips the sheer black bra from her shoulders and I have to look away. It's not that I don't want to look—God, I do—but I know that if I do I won't be able to think of anything else for the rest of the night. Maybe for the rest of my life.

The man to my left leans forward, his eyes on her even as the pretty girl in his lap tries her best to keep his attention. His eyes on her make my muscles twitch. I flex my hand against my thigh until I feel my knuckles pop, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to rip him from his chair by his shirt and slam my knee into his face.

My jaw clenches and the toothpick in my mouth almost snaps as I do everything I can to stay seated. Instead, I turn my eyes back to the stage.

I'm not the guy that fights over a girl.

But I want to be.

For her I think I would.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

When I look up again, she has her back to me, baring a long expanse of perfect skin to the room.

I swallow the last mouthful of my drink, still unable to look right at her. Even so, those eyes and that face stain the back of my eyelids like a bright spot from the sun.

The last few notes of her song are still lingering in the air when I stand.

Turning, I leave a tip for the waitress.

I pick up my jacket from the coat check.

Walking down the brightly lit hallway and into the night air, I slip my gloves on, pushing the leather deep between my fingers.

My phone rings again, and I pull it out of my pocket.

"Yeah."

Gravel crunches under my feet as I walk to my car, and I can hear the music from the club still thumping through the walls.

The phone line is silent for a moment. And then, "Half an hour. The bowling alley on Lohen."

I glance down at my watch and disconnect the call, tucking it back into my pocket.

The rumble of the engine pierces the midnight silence, and the neon lights of the club reflect brightly off of the hood of my car.

Sighing, I rest my head against the seat and close my eyes.

I have the feeling life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.


	2. Chapter One

**Thank you Drive, The Weeknd, Arctic Monkeys, Billy Huxley, Thom Yorke and Sara, who deserves big hugs because without ****her this would be just another "one day..." idea.**

**Okay. Here we go...**

* * *

><p>The elderly woman is dressed in her robe and slippers, her back hunched and her dark hair pulled tight atop her head. "Come," she says quietly, waving us inside with an arthritis-gnarled hand. I bring Emmett around and usher him into the apartment in front of me, trying my best to ignore the resistance I feel as I press a hand to the spot between his shoulders.<p>

Neda's husband is asleep on his recliner just feet away, with the Iranian news still playing on the TV. The apartment smells of something delicious: garlic, tomatoes, and a heady mix of exotic spices that make my stomach growl with hunger. I can't remember the last time I ate a decent meal.

"How are you, Mrs. Eizadi?" I whisper. "How's Joseph?"

She waves a hand in the direction of her snoring husband. "Good, good."

Stopping us just inside the door, Neda clutches her bathrobe shut and bends down to give Emmett a kiss on each of his cheeks. With both hands cupping his face, and smiles down at him.

"Hello, _azizam_," she says, her face softening, and wrinkles appearing at the sides of her eyes as she smiles. Ignoring her age and her old creaky bones, she picks up my son and lifts him onto her hip, where he immediately rests his head on her shoulder. I watch with thinly veiled jealously as his eyelids droop, and he tucks the thumb that isn't wrapped around a stuffed toy into his mouth. Neda smiles as Emmett nestles his head into her shoulder. He's quiet and close to sleep again, his body sagging gently against her chest.

Leaning in, I press a kiss to the top of his head. "Night, baby," I whisper, kissing him on the cheek. His skin smells like bubble bath and that unmistakable scent that's all his; and I can't help but breathe in a lungful of it.

"Bye, Momma," he says quietly, sighing tiredly as he buries his face into Neda's neck. The sight of him snuggling into her sends a tiny crack through my heart. Swallowing the ache, I step away, ignoring the resentment that festers in my chest. While I'm thankful to the old lady for everything she does for me, I resent her for being able to watch my son fall asleep when I can't.

"I'll be back in the morning."

The old woman nods, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Emmett's back. His sock-clad feet dangle at her waist as she walks me to the door. I adjust the bag on my shoulder, squeezing the strap to stop from snatching my boy out of her arms. "He's already brushed his teeth." She nods. "And he's had a bath." She nods again. "Oh, and don't forget the nightlight—"

"Yes. Is fine," she says with a smile. "I look after."

Before I can change my mind, I reach out and squeeze the toes on one of Em's feet before slipping through the front door and out into the hallway. The apartment door closes, and I listen to the locks click over again until I'm left alone in the hallway with nothing but the smell of rising damp and the sound of the lights buzzing overhead.

Tired, I slump against the wall, hanging my head.

Leaving Emmett is never easy, but for some reason tonight seems harder than the rest. It might be it's because his birthday is coming up. My baby—the tiny little boy that tore open my world four years ago—is getting older. I miss the soft head cradled against my chest, the smell of his baby skin, his warm weight in my arms as he slept.

But watching him grow—watching him become his own little person—has become a brand new reward of its own, so I know that it's more than that.

No. It's the idea that every day he gets older he'll become more aware. Understanding will begin to sink in, and he'll soon realize that he doesn't have the toys that the other children do, that his clothes are second hand, and that we live in a shitty two-bedroom walk-up with intermittent hot water and no heating. He'll come to understand more and more that even though I'm doing my best, I'll still never be able to give him everything he needs.

It's this—the idea that Emmett will think of me as a failure—that crushes me from the inside out, squeezing the air from my lungs and forcing my stomach into my throat.

My hand drifts to the soft overnight bag that's slung over my shoulder, where beneath the cotton and layers of clothing sits a rent bill with the words "past due" stamped on it in red ink.

Working two jobs six days a week isn't the way I'd envisioned my life. But with debt hanging over my head, the cost of raising a child, and inner-city living, I'm doing all I can just to make ends meet.

Still, it's not enough. It never seems to be enough.

As much as it pains me to do it—to spend all of this time away from Emmett when he's so young—I do what have to do to make sure that he has a roof over his head. That he has enough to eat. That he has clothes on his back. That he can go to school and maybe grow up to be a better person than I will ever be.

The front doors slam shut on the ground floor, the sound echoing up the stairwell. Sighing, I lift myself from the wall, closing all of these horrible, gut-churning thoughts behind my steel resolve.

The wooden stairs creak under my feet, the old wood flexing underfoot. Over the sound of the TV from apartment 2A I hear a heavy set of footsteps coming up the stairs below me, and when I reach the first landing I see Edward, who lives a few doors down from me, making his way up the stairs. His shoulders are hunched, his head covered by a black knit cap. I can hear the rattle of change in his pocket as he takes each step, and the tinny sound of music echoing from a pair of headphones that dangle around his neck. Never looking up, he slows as I approach and moves to the side. The stairs are narrow, barely three feet wide. He has to flatten himself against the wall to let me pass.

Looking up briefly, I smile. "Thanks."

He nods and continues up the stairs behind me, pushing the headphones back into his ears.

I've seen him around a few times, mostly just in the stairwell or in the parking lot. He keeps to himself a lot, barely affording anyone much more than a passing hello. But still, there's something interesting about Edward and his quiet demeanor. I pause at the bottom of the stairs and look back, hoping to catch another look at him, but he's already gone.

It's jarring, his silence—especially given the way he looks; like a storm on the horizon, something dark and fierce. But I know better than most that looks can be deceiving.

Everything is not always what it seems.

* * *

><p>*Azizam – Farsi for <em>darling<em>

* * *

><p><em>Endless thank you's to Astro and Rach, ABadKitty and Wimeo for every single word. And for all of the ones I cut out, too.<em>

_HUGE thanks also to everyone who left me love after the last chapter. Big epic hugs. _

_x Wink_


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

* * *

><p>Rain drips from the eaves of my apartment building, and the sidewalk is sleek and wet under the night sky. The air feels heavy with rain, and I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance. As a drop of rain hits the back of my neck and rolls under the collar of my sweater I curse myself for not bringing an umbrella.<p>

Luckily, a cab pulls in just as a light mist begins to fall.

I hop into the back seat of the cab, glaring sullenly at the mass of red, rusting metal that sits in the corner of the parking lot. My truck only just made the cross-country trek from Forks, and has since been sitting in the lot waiting to be fixed. Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the money to get it repaired.

By the time I arrive at work, the parking lot is full of expensive looking cars, and Marcus' bright yellow Porsche sits under a streetlight, its paint gleaming. The building's neon pink sign glows bright, illuminating the dark night sky, and there's already a line at the door. I attempt to slip quietly in the side entrance, closing it gently behind me, but even though I do my best to tip-toe past Marcus' office, he still sees me.

"You're late," he calls from behind his desk. His back is to me, his head buried in the safe as video monitors around him flicker with feeds from around the club.

"Sorry." I hustle past the door, my wet shoes squeaking on the cement floor of the hallway.

The bass-heavy music thumps through the walls as I make my way down the hallway and past the bathrooms, toward the dressing room. Warm yellow light and the familiar smell of coconut body lotion greet me as I slip in through the door. As I stop to check the floor rotation, I spot Leah across the room, her outfit on and her phone pressed to her ear. She waves and smiles, blowing me a kiss. Alice is there too, at her dressing table, perfecting her cherry-red lipstick.

She smiles at me in the mirror. "Hey, girl."

I touch my hand to her shoulder as I pass. "Hey, sweetie."

"How are you?" she calls, her voice following me into the locker room.

I stuff my bag into my locker and pull out a couple of outfits before I strip out of my jeans and hoodie.

"I'm good," I reply, the lie rolling off of my tongue so easily I barely notice it.

I tuck my plain clothes away and slide a black thong up my legs as Alice talks to me from the dressing room. I half listen, trying instead to focus on mentally preparing myself for a night's work. As I do, I can feel the little pieces of Bella Swan being tucked safely away and someone new taking her place.

Beneath the coloured lights of Blush, the most exclusive men's club in the city, I begin to shed my skin.

Three nights a week I strip away the person I am—brown hair and faded jeans, worn out sneakers and a sports bra—and piece by piece I turn myself into someone new. Rose is confident and seductive, she's long-legged and lean, with skin that smells like temptation and lips that look like seduction.

She's everything I'm not, but everything that I need to be.

This place is the real deal. We don't get paid to strut around a pole looking bored; we get paid to dance our asses off and keep the clientele happy. The girls are hand-picked by the club manager, and we're the best at what we do. With a premium cover charge Blush rides the line between fantasy and luxury, and if you're willing to pay for it, who says you can't have both?

I slide my feet into a pair of heels that make my legs look long, and throw the locker door shut, hiding Bella away for a few hours. Back in the dressing room, I pin my bangs up and cover my dark hair with blonde waves that skim the tops of my breasts. I dust my skin with sweet-smelling powder and paint my lips a pretty pink to match my name.

"How's that sweet boy of yours?" Alice asks, wiping her nose, a rolled-up twenty between her fingers.

The thought of Emmett makes me smile. I swipe a finger beneath my lower lip, perfecting the petal-colored lipstick. "He's good. Growing up so fast."

Alice smiles, her eyes sparkling from beneath her false lashes. "You'll have to bring him by so we can meet him one day."

At just twenty, Alice is Southern-Belle-sweet; coked-up and much too naïve for the job she's in. Not to mention completely stupid if she thinks I'd bring my son anywhere near this place. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that there isn't anyone in her life to keep her straight and narrow. She's a long way from Kansas, and the city is no place for a sweet little thing like her.

I give Alice a half-shrug half-nod, which appeases her for the moment, and then, beyond the stage doors, the music changes and the DJ calls my name.

"Knock 'em dead," says Leah as she struts past, all dark skin, ink-covered, femme-fatale.

With a deep breath I feel the last pieces of my mask slide into place. Shoulders back and head up, I step forward.

On stage, the lights are bright and the bass is heavy, the vibrations shaking the floor beneath my feet. The music begins with a slow bassline that rattles my chest as I begin to move. It takes a moment for my muscles to warm up, but after a minute or so I feel my body relax into the movements, and then all I have to do is let go and let my body do the rest.

As the beat picks up, I feel the burn in my arms and thighs as I use them to lift my body up and around the pole. I can feel a room full of eyes on me as I move. I feel their gaze burn my skin from across the club, sizzling where it meets the flesh of my ass, my thighs and my breasts. I may not always be proud of what I do, but that doesn't mean I'm not good at it. I won't lie; there are nights when it feels like just another job, when I'd much rather be anywhere but here. But most nights I'm happy knowing that while my son sleeps, I'm earning double what I do at the diner on a good day. I'm earning the money I need to put him into a decent daycare, the money I need to pay the rent and pay off my debt.

But most of all, when I put Rose on it's like I can be anyone I want. I don't have to be the girl who lives in a rundown apartment with no money and a broken down car. I can be powerful. I can be seductive. When I'm dancing, there's no doubt who these men are looking at, and the want in their eyes sends a thrill through me that I can't find anywhere else.

For those brief minutes on stage I am the star of someone's world, rather than the satellite in orbit.

Too soon the song comes to an end, and I'm left with a thumping heart and damp skin. Moving quickly, I change out of my dance gear and into something soft and lightweight, something that I can take on and off with ease, something that–unless you're the one paying for it–keeps everything hidden just out of sight.

One of the bouncers pops his head into the dressing room. "You got Tyler in room three, Bells."

I pop some gum into my mouth, nodding over my shoulder at him. "Thanks, Paul. I'll just be five minutes." After another quick spray of deodorant, and a swipe of perfume behind my ears and on my neck, I make my way across the club to the private rooms.

Eyes swing my way and heads turn, gazes fall upon every inch of exposed skin I have as I move across the club floor. For the first few weeks here I found the attention uncomfortable—I wasn't used to having dozens of men watching my every move. But now I know that every glance and every smile means money in my pocket and food in my fridge. I can't say that being desired doesn't also have its merits. A roll of my hips and a flutter of my hands in the right places can make the whole place sit up straight, and with just a flick of my hair and the promise of a little more, I can make a man hand over his paycheck. Sometimes the ego trip is dizzying.

So I smile and I saunter across the club floor, swinging my hips like it's nothing, like it doesn't mean a thing to me. Like everything I have isn't riding on my every move.

As it does when we're busy, Five a.m. rolls around quickly, and it's not long before the bouncers begin tossing out the last few customers. In the back, I take my wig off and run a hand through my damp hair, putting Bella back together piece by piece as I shove Rose into my bag for another night. My legs and back are aching, and with a full week now behind me, all I can think about is a long, hot shower before crawling into bed.

"Bella," says Marcus, handing me a white envelope with my night's takings from the bar. It feels light in my hands.

Frowning, I open it and count the bills inside. The words are out before I can check them. "That's it?"

He shrugs, handing Jane her envelope. "That's it. Maybe next week you'll work a little harder."

The paper envelope crinkles between my fingers. As well as tips—which are split between us and the house—we earn half of the bar takings when clients buy drinks. I'm not stupid; I keep a tally as the night goes. What's in my envelope doesn't add up. It's not even close.

"Can you count again?" I ask, holding out the envelope. Alice watches me from over Marcus' shoulder, her eyes swinging between him and I wildly.

Marcus turns, his dark eyes zeroing in on me. I try not to shrink back as he steps closer. "I can count it ten times, Bella," he says, his tone even but not without malice. "You can count it, Alice can count it, your fucking Grandma can count it—it is what it is."

"But it's light eighty dollars."

His brows lift. "You calling me a liar?" he snaps. His chest is now mere inches away from my face. He whispers, "You got a problem, you start pulling your weight like the rest of the girls," and my throat tightens and my jaw clenches as I resist the urge call him on his bullshit, and demand that he pay me what I know is mine.

But I don't. Because not a lot of people scare me, but Marcus does.

I've seen what happens to stupid girls who fall out of line, or who dare to question his decisions. I've seen him drag a girl into his office by her hair. I've heard rumors of broken knees and busted wrists when girls have tried to jump ship to another club. Blush might be one of the best strip clubs in the city, but there's no hiding the fact that it's nothing but a pretty face for the darker side of Marcus' business. When he asks me to pull my weight, what he means is that he wants me to push his drugs to my customers. I've seen the girls slipping guys bags of powder or pills, and I know Marcus gives them a small cut of the deal. None of the dancers will talk about it, but nevertheless I can't help but notice their envelopes look a little thicker than mine.

I can't say I haven't thought about it briefly, but every time I do it all comes down to Emmett. I don't care how broke I am, I'll work six jobs if I have to–I am not getting involved in that sort of shit again. Emmett only has me, and to put myself in a situation would be reckless.

Marcus steps back, sensing my fear, and as he does a bone-deep feeling of weariness settles inside of me. The money I have will cover my bills and the grocery shopping, but not much else. I need that extra eighty, but it's also five-thirty in the morning and I'm exhausted.

Sighing, I stuff the wad of money into my purse and hand Marcus back the empty envelope. "Whatever. See you next week."

Throwing my bag onto my shoulder, I say goodbye to the girls and head back down the hallway towards the side door.

"Think about it," Marcus calls after me, hidden in his office again.

"Not going to happen," I reply before slamming the club door behind me.

By the time I get home it's almost six. Using the spare key, I slip into the Eizadi's apartment and lift my sleeping boy out of the spare bed and into my arms. I tuck his head between my chin and my shoulder, and just the feeling of him in my arms loosens the knot inside my chest. Even as I climb two flights of stairs with a thirty-odd-pound kid in my arms, I feel lighter. Tomorrow is Monday, which means I don't have anywhere to be but here. There's money in my purse and Em doesn't have preschool again until Tuesday. I'm not going to let Marcus or anybody else ruin this feeling. Not today.

Dumping my things inside the front door, I slip Emmett into my bed, where he immediately rolls onto his stomach and tucks his hands under his thighs. I turn the portable oil heater on to warm the room a little, and pull the covers up to keep him warm. Leaving the bathroom door open, I shower, washing off the smell of stale smoke and perfume. Throwing on a pair of underwear and an old t-shirt, I close the curtains in the bedroom, and as I do, the sound of a car rumbling to life drifts up through my window. Peeking out of the curtains, I spot a shiny black car pulling away, its powerful engine roaring in the early morning air.

I slip into the bed beside Emmett and pull him close beside me. His mouth is open a little, his cheek pressed into the pillow, his face wrinkled from sleep. I kiss him softly, brushing a wayward blond curl from his forehead before I lay my hand on his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths. The sun is just starting to shine through my curtains, the light soft and muted after a night of rain, and in moments I'm fast asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the sound of my son's deep breathing and the feel of his heart beating beneath my hand.

* * *

><p><strong>You ready? He's on his way... <strong>

**Thank you Kitty, Wime, Rach and Astro endlessly. Forever and a day.**

**Thank you for reading and for your lovely words also. **

**x Wink**


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

* * *

><p>The blaring of a car alarm outside wakes me just before nine AM.<p>

Refusing to open my eyes until I need to, I lie still, enjoying the last few minutes of rest before I really do have to get up. Listening for any movement in the house, I'm not surprised to find it quiet, with only the sound of Emmett's latest cartoon obsession drifting through the bedroom door.

Finally, after I almost fall asleep again twice, I peel my eyes open and sit up to take a sip from the glass of water by my bed. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, yawning again. Stretching my arms behind my back, I roll my neck, hearing the satisfying little pops and clicks as it settles. The bedroom is bright, the sunlight beaming through the crack in the curtain, and warming my feet as the light streaks across them. I wiggle my toes, taking a little time to enjoy the fact that I have nowhere to be–no work, no preschool for Emmett, absolutely nothing.

Pulling my hair up, I secure it with an elastic band and splash some water on my face before going in search of Em and some breakfast.

As is his habit, he's about three feet from the TV, his little legs crisscrossed under him, his hands hiding in his lap as he stares at the screen.

"Haven't I told you about sitting so close?"

I tuck my hands under his arms and lift him onto the sofa before dropping a quick kiss to his head. He barely moves. His eyes are glued to the TV.

The kitchen is warm from the rare morning sunshine, the window over the sink letting the light shine over the cracked linoleum under my feet. I know I should be thinking about how to pay my bills and where the money for next month's rent will come from—especially after coming home eighty dollars light last night—but I can't find it in me to care.

"You want some breakfast, Em?"

I pick up Emmett's plate and tip the crumbs from his dinner into the sink before I turn the faucet on, letting my hand sit under the running water as the old pipes whine and strain with effort. It takes a good minute or so for the hot water to kick in, but when it finally arrives I rinse off our two plates and stack them beside the sink.

"Emmett?"

Drying my hands, I turn to the living room, where Emmett is still transfixed on the TV. Leaning over the back of the sofa, I poke him in the ribs gently.

"Hey, Mister." He turns, giggling and trying to bat me away when I tickle him lightly. "I asked if you want breakfast."

"Can I have pantakes?"

"No pancakes today. How about cereal?"

Shrugging, Emmett turns back to the TV. "I guess."

I open the fridge, and even though I know exactly what's in there, it's still a kick to the gut when I see bare shelves. I sniff the milk and put it back beside the half stick of butter and a soft carrot. Closing the refrigerator door, I'm met with a photo of Emmett on his last birthday. The glossy print is curling at the sides a little, but the photo is still as bright as ever. His face is covered with blue frosting and chocolate cake crumbs, his red t-shirt caked with it, too. His hair has yet to develop the curl it gets when it's longer, and his cheeks are rosy and soft, full of the baby fat he's begun to lose over the last year.

The boy in the picture and the little boy watching TV seem a world apart. The Emmett that sits on the couch behind me has begun to grow into a boy. His father was–_is_–tall, so I can only expect that he'll be a tall kid. In fact, he has so many of the features that make his father attractive that I can only expect he'll be just as good-looking. The perfect dip above his top lip, the golden blond hair, the stern set of his brow that he gets when he's focusing really hard on something—it's all Eric. He also has his father's eyes—that cool, bright blue that you can see from a mile away. But where Eric's are icy and piercing, Emmett's are bright and beautiful, tiny windows to his thoughtful, gentle little soul.

Thoughts of Emmett's father make my heart squeeze for just a moment, and for a split second, as I stare out into the sunshine, I'm left wishing for simpler times. I long for afternoons spent driving around town with him and his boys, with his arm around my shoulder and my bare feet on the dashboard. My stomach flutters at the memories of nights spent hiding from my mom in the back seat of that car, of the skunky smell of weed mingled with pine-scented air freshener. In my mind I see his smile, the same smile I see on his son's face, and I wish I was there all over again. Back where you can see the stars, where the roads are long and empty, and where everything was easy and carefree until it wasn't.

But I wish for the boy Eric was, not the man he became, and that fact turns the fluttering in my stomach to ice, and the butterflies sink like lead weights.

"Come get your breakfast, baby," I say, shaking the memories from my head.

I tip some cereal into Emmett's bowl and watch him slide off of the sofa and walk into the kitchen, his socked feet silent on the floor. He pulls himself up and into his booster seat, waiting patiently.

"You wanna do something fun today?" I ask, pouring what's left of the milk into his plastic bowl.

His legs swing back and forth, and he nods.

"Yeah? How about we do some shopping and then go to the park?"

His blue eyes light up as he licks the milk moustache from his top lip. "Can we get ice cream?"

"Maybe," I say around a mouthful of dry cereal. "But only if you pack away all of your toys first."

Emmett bounces in his seat, nodding. Before the morning is out his room is clean—well, four-year-old clean—and he's nagged me so much about ice cream that I agree just to get some peace and quiet. That's another thing about raising a kid that no one told me—they don't forget. You mention the word ice cream once and you're bound by kid-law to come through with the goods. Heaven help you if you don't.

The four-storey apartment building we live in isn't in the best part of town, in fact, it's miles away from being anywhere near the best part of town. But one of the reasons I chose it, apart from the cheap rent, was the park across the street. It's lush and green, with huge leafy trees that line the pathways, and a playground big enough to keep Emmett entertained for hours. Today we walk through the park slowly, stopping to look at sticks and leaves and whatever else catches his attention, making our way to the supermarket on the other side.

I pick up a few things at the store while Emmett sits in the trolley, happily munching on a little handful of grapes. Afterward, even after I tried to fill him up with fruit, he still eats a scoop of ice cream the size of a tennis ball. It's bright blue and bubblegum flavored, and I swear it covers every inch of his skin from ear to ear. In fact, I have to wet wipe it out of his ear, too.

I splurge on a scoop of cookies and cream for myself, and even decide to pay the extra dollar for the hot fudge sauce. It's sweet and creamy and as I'm licking the last of it from the spoon I realize that besides a handful of dry cereal it's the closest thing I've had to a meal since yesterday lunch time. My stomach gurgles with appreciation.

After gorging ourselves, we walk the groceries home and then head back to the park so that Emmett can burn off a little of the sugar buzz.

"Stay where I can see you, okay?"

Emmett wrestles his sweater off, and nods as he balls it up and hands it to me. I sit on a little wooden bench under a tree as he walks over to the playground. There are at least four other kids on the equipment, and two of them look about his age. His approach is slow and tentative, and halfway there he turns back to me, looking uncertain. I smile, encouraging him to keep going.

Emmett is not what you would call a social butterfly. He gets it from me, I guess. He's always been happy to play on his own, or spend time with me rather than run around with a big bunch of kids. I know I should be encouraging him to make friends and be social, but he's all I have right now, so if I'm a little greedy about keeping him all to myself, then so be it. I'm sure in a few years he'll be too cool to hang out with his mom anyway.

The clouds roll in slowly, but there's still enough sun left to warm my legs, so I stretch them out in front of me. Between a stomach full of ice cream, the sunshine, and a happy three almost four-year-old, it's pretty much a perfect moment. Forget the past-due bills, the shitty day job, and the even shittier night job; this right here is all I need. The day feels like it's brand new: perfect, shiny, and completely weightless. Days like this remind me that no matter how hard life gets, I'm eternally grateful for what little I have.

I look over at Emmett, who's sitting quietly under the slide, a million miles and a million years away, his favorite dinosaur figures in hand. While the other children squeal and run and fall and giggle, he plays alone quietly, more than happy to immerse himself in his own fantasy world. It's one of the things I admire the most about him.

Sometimes the fact that he's mine still takes my breath away. I _made_ that. Part of my DNA, part of me and who I am at a molecular level, is a part of him. He's more than just ten perfect little fingers and toes; he's a collection of two people, all the best parts rolled up into one tiny human being.

I was only nineteen when I got pregnant, but from the moment I found out I knew that more than anything I wanted to meet this person I was helping to create. Of course, his father didn't feel the same way, and at the time I couldn't understand why, but looking back now, knowing what I do, I can only see it as fate.

A few other people come and go from the park, and the afternoon stretches into early evening. Soon enough the sun starts to set, and the moment it dips behind a cloud, the air takes on a chill, the sun's warmth swallowed up by the horizon.

I stand, waving at Emmett from across the playground. "Time to go," I call, and a moment later he appears from his spot beneath the slide. He's covered in bark chips and leaves, and since we skipped his afternoon nap, he's running on fumes but still a ball of energy.

"Can I watch my movie?" he asks as I take his hand before we cross the road.

"Again? Aren't you bored with it already?"

He shakes his head, sending dry leaves everywhere. "It's my most favorite."

Even though I can repeat the entire _Walking with Dinosaurs_ DVD from memory, I nod anyway. "You can watch it after dinner."

"Yes!" he yells, fist pumping and giving a little karate kick for good measure.

We're still a good distance away from the entrance to our building when I spot a group of guys hanging around outside. At first I'm not worried, but as we get a little closer a feeling of unease begins to settle in. Normally a bunch of men wouldn't bother me, I have to deal with idiots like these guys at work all the time, but I've seen a few of them before and they're not the kind of people I want near Emmett. I try to think of another way to get inside, another entrance somewhere, but there's nothing. We're going to have to walk right past them.

I try to look calm, but a few yards away Emmett's grip on my hand tightens, and I can tell he's seen them too. Being around a bunch of kids is one thing, but grown men have always made Emmett nervous.

There are four of them. They're not big guys, but four stupid, drunk guys all the same. I try to calm the nerves that rise up in my throat—I don't want Emmett to feel my apprehension any more than he needs to. I drape an arm over his shoulder, tucking him into my side as we get closer.

I'd hoped to be able to sneak past without any trouble, but when I look up I find all four sets of eyes watching our approach. Emmett's shoulders tense beneath my hand, so I rub a hand over his back reassuringly, and try to make my voice sound calm. "It's okay," I say quietly. "Keep walking."

The entrance to the building is flanked by high garden beds, and the guys are blocking the only path in. There are stray beer cans and bottles, and I can smell the smoke before I see the cigarette butts on the ground. One of them steps into my path and he's so close I don't' have anything left to do but stop in front of him.

"Hey," he drawls, and the feeling of his eyes on me sends a wave of disgust rolling through me.

I try to maneuver around him, but he blocks our path.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" he asks, trying to dip his head to meet my gaze.

I shake my head. "I doubt it. Excuse me."

I try to side-step him, but he steps in front of me again and his friends laugh. This time I look up at him, my jaw clenched tightly. Somehow he doesn't get the hint.

"You sure we haven't met before? Pretty face like yours—,"

"I'm sure."

"Yeah, yeah," pipes up one of his friends. "She's one of Marcus' girls."

Recognition lights his eyes, and though he smiles it's cold—reptilian. "That's right. You do work at Blush." His eyes travel the length of my body slowly. "I'd know that pretty ass anywhere."

"I think you have the wrong person." I try again to get around them. "Can I get past now please?"

I grip Emmett tightly, feeling his hand slip around my thigh gently as he presses himself into my side.

"You live here?" he asks. "Just you and the kid?"

Had I been on my own, I would happily have used the little can of mace I keep in my bag. Or the alarm I have attached to my house keys. But I really don't want to scare Emmett. I just want to get him upstairs where it's safe.

I grit my teeth, trying to stand taller. "It's none of your business. How about you back off and let us through?"

He takes a half a step closer and lifts his hand to my face. My immediate instinct is to recoil, and the minute I do, I hate myself for it. His fingers touch my cheek, and I have to clench my jaw to stop from trying to bite his fingers clean off. Instead, I swallow the sour taste that coats my tongue, feeling my fear go with it.

I'm not afraid, I'm angry.

"Come on now," he says quietly. "No need to make this hard. I'm sure you and me can work something out." His breath is laced with the scent of cheap bourbon and stale cigarettes. The smell makes my stomach roll again.

I open my mouth to snap back at him, only to be cut off by an approaching voice.

"Hey," booms the voice from behind me. "She said back off."

The voice is deep and demanding, and I'm startled as a wall of black cotton suddenly appears, pushing Emmett and I back a step. He's so tall and broad across the shoulders that all I can see is his shirt and the little flashes of color where ink peeks out of the neckline.

It takes a moment for me to recognize Edward. It isn't until he turns slightly, his eyes cutting to me over his shoulder, that I realize who it is. I'm so surprised by his appearance that it takes my brain a beat to catch up.

"What you gonna do?" sneers the guy, his face an ugly contrast to Edward's almost perfect profile. Up close, the attractive set of his jaw and cheekbones are even more startling than I'd realized. "You gonna get your pretty face banged up over some whore?"

Edward's back flexes, and I see his fist clench in my peripheral vision, his knuckles white under the strain. For a split second the other man cowers, his brain obviously sizing up his opponent and coming up short.

"Step. Back."

He does nothing to hide the menace in his tone. His voice is calm and steady, but his fist is still flexed at his side. I pull Emmett tightly to my side, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure I'm about to choke on it.

After a moment of uneasy silence, the guy finally retreats out of Edward's face, and when two guys to my right step apart, I take the opportunity to pull Emmett through the gap between them and into the building.

Lifting Emmett onto my hip, I take the stairs as quickly as I can. I don't stop. I don't look back. I don't breathe again until we're upstairs and safe behind a locked door.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you, as always, to Astro, Rach, Kitty and Wime for all of their hard work. Any mistakes are mine. <strong>

**See you guys soon!**

**x Wink**


	5. Chapter Four

**Apologies for the late update. RL, yo. What a bitch.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

* * *

><p>With Emmett on my hip, I take the stairs two at a time, my legs burning and my arms aching with his weight. I fumble with the keys for a moment, my heart beating a million miles a minute and my hands sweating. Finally, the door opens and I push Emmett through, closing it behind us, and dead bolting it before sliding the chain lock into place.<p>

I rest a shaking hand on the door and lift up onto my toes to look through the peephole. The hallway is empty. When I'm satisfied there's no one there, I lower myself from my tiptoes and press my head to the front door, exhaling shakily.

I hate that those assholes know where I live.

I hate that Marcus can spread his filth to the one place I feel safe.

Most of all, I hate that all I could do was run.

I'm torn between fear and anger, and the urge to stay and keep an eye on Emmett is almost crushed by the need to run downstairs and unload my anger into that guy's face.

Instead, I stand rooted to a spot just inside my front door, shaking and trying not to cry.

When I turn around a moment later, Emmett is still behind me, his fists balled in the material of his sweater. His blue eyes swim with unshed tears, and whatever anger is still simmering inside of me is quickly washed away, replaced with guilt. The last thing I want is for Emmett to be upset by what happened, and here I am freaking out right in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, I reach out a hand for his. "Come on," I say, sounding calmer than I feel. "Let's see what we can do about dinner."

I cook for us both, and do my best to stick to our Monday night routine for Emmett's sake. As I do though, I keep an ear trained on the hallway outside of my apartment, listening for Edward. But I don't hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs, or the sound of his door slamming shut, and the continuing silence is somehow worse.

Emmett eats his meal quietly, his expression more serious than it should be when faced with a bowl of green Jell-o. When he's finished, we pack his backpack, readying it for the next day, and then brush his teeth before getting him ready for bed.

He's sitting in his underwear when the questions start.

"Did the mean man go away, Momma?" he asks as I slip him into his pajamas.

I nod, wriggling his shirt down over his stomach. "Yeah. He's gone, baby."

"Why did he make you sad, Momma?"

"Well, he said some not nice things to me, and it made me sad. Kind of like when Tyler said mean things to you at preschool, remember?"

Emmett nods somberly.

"But I'm not sad anymore, because I have you and you make me happy again."

"I do?"

"Yeah you do. You're my favorite."

Emmett smiles a toothy grin. "You're my favorite too, Momma. Even more than Steven."

I gasp dramatically. "More than Steven the dinosaur?"

"More!"

He giggles as I run a finger up the length of his foot, and the sound eases a little of the tension inside of me. "Well that must be a lot then."

Emmett continues to get ready for bed, wrestling with his socks and slippers. Kneeling at the side of his bed, I watch him, that familiar little crease between his brows wrinkling the skin there. "Will he come back?" he asks, wiggling his toes into a yellow sock.

"I don't know," I say truthfully. Emmett lifts each foot as I slip them into his favorite dinosaur slippers. I look up at him, into his bright blue eyes. "But you know you're safe here, right? You know that nothing bad will happen to you?"

He nods, and I lean forward and hold him close. "I will never, ever let anyone hurt you, Emmett. Ever. It's just you and me, so we have to look out for each other, okay?"

I feel him nod into my shoulder, and I sit back, smiling as he brushes his hair from his face. I really should get him a haircut but his floppy blond curls are just too damn cute.

"You want to sit on the couch with me tonight?"

His eyes light up and he leans in a little. "Dinosaurs?"

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "No dinosaurs tonight, Emmett."

"Dinosaaauuurs, Momma," he wails with a pout. "You said!"

I'd completely forgotten my earlier promise to let him watch one of his Dinosaur DVDs. I'm severely regretting buying him the box set of documentaries for Christmas.

"Okay, but just one."

He jumps off his bed and runs past me into the living room where he proceeds to pull a DVD out and set himself up on the couch.

"Did you know birds usded to be dinosaurs?"

"No," I lie, and he nods as I throw a blanket over him.

Continuing to spout dinosaur facts, Emmett curls up beside me and wiggles impatiently until the documentary starts, after which he's still—completely engrossed. Thankfully, he falls asleep within twenty minutes and barely notices when I lift him into bed. I turn the nightlight beside his bed on and leave his door open just a little.

With Emmett asleep and nothing else to occupy me, that niggling voice inside my head starts wondering what happened to Edward and the guys downstairs. I clean the kitchen and tidy up the living room, but by ten thirty I can't stand the wait anymore. I need to know what happened. Double checking that Emmett is fast asleep, I sneak out in the hallway, locking the apartment door behind me. The carpet in the hall, once dark green, is so thin I can feel the floorboards beneath my bare feet, and the cold air drifting up from downstairs makes me wish I'd worn socks.

It's dark out, but the lights are on in the entryway. Thankfully, it's empty; the guys are gone, and something inside of me relaxes when I don't find a bloody and beaten Edward slumped in a corner. But then that stupid voice inside my head creeps back in, wondering where he is.

I shake my head, rolling my eyes at myself. It's not any of my business where he goes.

Back upstairs, I stand outside my apartment door for longer than necessary, my hand reaching for the door handle. I can see Edward's apartment from where I stand, the gold 3C on his door glinting under the fluorescent lights.

I turn slightly, as if I might actually walk over and knock on his door. But I don't. Instead, I stare down the hallway for a moment longer before unlocking my door and going back inside.

* * *

><p>The next morning I wake Emmett at seven, and we begin the morning routine.<p>

I shower quickly while he watches TV, I throw my uniform on, and Emmett and I argue about what he'll wear. When he's finally dressed in something that isn't his Superman costume, he eats breakfast while I finish getting ready.

As we rush through the empty foyer, I catch Emmett glancing around nervously. Both the entryway and the parking lot are empty save for a few cars. I squeeze his hand gently and we keep moving, running the last few yards as the bus pulls up ahead of us.

The ride to Emmett's preschool is only twenty minutes, and even though he goes there four times a week every week, it still takes him ten minutes and at least a dozen kisses to let me leave. This morning it takes some coercing with finger paint to pull him away from me.

Once Emmett is sufficiently distracted enough for me to leave, I sign him in quickly and walk the six blocks to work. I arrive with just enough time to pin my name tag on and grab an apron.

Unlike my job at Blush, my days at the diner are easy, mindless work. I'm on my feet all day, but the customers are nice, and the work is so easy I could do it in my sleep. In fact, there are the rare days that after picking up a shift at the club, I'm pretty sure I've sleepwalked through entire shifts. I pour coffee, I wait tables, I wipe benches, I chat with the customers—it's not rocket science, but I enjoy it.

Just after two, after the lunch crowd has settled and Lauren and I are behind the counter refilling the napkins, Pete, the owner, steps out of the kitchen.

"Who opened this morning?" he asks, draping a dishtowel over his shoulder. His oil-splattered shirt is stretched tight across his chest and stomach, the buttons straining in their holes.

"Bella did," Lauren says, and when Pete turns to me I can see what's coming before he even has a chance to say anything.

He sighs, leaning against the counter top. "No chance that you could clock out early, is there, sweetheart?" He rubs a thick-fingered hand across his stubbly jaw line. "The accountant is on my back to cut down hours where we can. You know, with the new freeway and all."

The recently finished freeway that now connects the north and south end of the city has meant that a lot of the traffic that came our way has been diverted. The trucking routes in and out of the city have changed, and the heavy flow of customers we used to have has almost halved. I need the money as much as Lauren does, but I feel bad for Pete and his wife. We're running minimal staff as it is, but they're swimming in debt and I know what it's like to lie in bed and worry about how you'll pay your bills. I'm more than familiar with the feeling of dread that festers in your stomach when yet another bill comes in; when you have to decide whether to pay that utility bill or the childcare bill. Heat and electricity versus a job and decent care for my son—these are the things that keep me up at night, too.

"No problem," I say, reaching behind me to untie my apron.

"Don't be silly," argues Lauren, her hand on my arm. "You have Emmett. I'll finish early."

"It's fine," I tell her. "I can't stay to close anyway. Not with Emmett in care. And you're going to need the money when this baby of yours comes." I touch the side of her stomach gently, feeling the small bump that has begun to show beneath her dress.

Lauren smiles, resting a hand on top of her belly. "Are you sure it's okay?"

I nod, and Pete practically sighs with relief. "Things will pick up soon," he says, trying to sound optimistic. I'm sure even he can hear the lie in his voice. He makes me take a box of leftovers: half a blueberry pie and some meatloaf, and even sticks a wrapped sandwich into my jacket pocket for the bus ride home.

I've devoured the sandwich before I even make it to Emmett's preschool, and it takes all of my willpower not to take a bite out of the pie. The bus is all but empty when it pulls up, so we pick the seats that get the sun, and I sit with the box on my lap, watching the city go past.

We pull up alongside a shiny red Corvette, its sleek paint gleaming in the afternoon sun. It's in perfect condition, the finish spotless and the body immaculate, the perfect showpiece. It makes me think of Edward and his car, and then I'm thinking about the moment he showed up the night before. It's been a long time since anyone has done anything like that for me, and I can't help but be a little shocked and flattered. I need to do something to thank him, but I don't have any money to give him, or enough to even buy him something nice.

As the bus rumbles along, I try to piece together all of the little things about him that I do know. He keeps very strange hours, coming and going at odd times of the day. He's quiet; I never hear music or noises coming from his apartment. He drives an old Mustang, and I guess he must like it enough to take care of it since it's always clean and shiny.

Finally, I know that Edward lives alone. I never see him with friends or family. No kids, no girlfriends.

I sigh with frustration. Nothing I know about him helps me in any way. The only thing I can think of is that he's a guy, and regardless of what I do or don't know, there is one thing that I can do that will let him know how grateful I am for his help.

Men are easy to please; it's just working up the courage to actually do it that's the hard part.

* * *

><p>It takes most of the bus ride for a plan to take shape, and by the time I get home with Emmett I've already psyched myself up to go over after he's asleep.<p>

While Emmett is in the bath, no doubt covering the bathroom floor with bubbles, I pack the leftover pie into a container and wrap up the cold meat for the following night. I put the oven on the timer, and I have just enough time to read to Emmett and watch him fall asleep before it goes off.

With a few deep breaths, I grab what I need and check on Emmett one last time before I step out. I ease my front door closed quietly, making sure it's locked twice. Something in my stomach flutters as I knock on Edward's front door, and as soon as I do, I realize too late that I don't even know if he's home. As soon as he opens the door I kick myself for not tidying up before coming over. My feet are bare, and I'm wearing a huge old sweater I've had for years. Plus, I'm fairly sure I have marinara sauce on my cheek.

The door opens and he looks almost shocked to see me. He closes the door a little, blocking my view of the inside of his apartment.

"Hi," he says quietly, looking me over with curious eyes.

I smile nervously. "Hi. Um, I just wanted to say thank you for last night."

"Oh." Edward shakes his head slightly, frowning. "Don't... it's fine."

Smiling, I lift the foil-covered dish in my hands. "I made you something. It's nothing special, just lasagna."

Edward surprises me by stepping out into the hall, his larger hands taking the dish from mine. I pretend I don't see the raw skin on his knuckles. The faint bruise beneath the skin.

"You made it?"

I nod, tucking my thumbs into the back pocket of my jeans. "It was the least I could do."

His thin black thermal clings to his forearms, and as he lifts the container on top I catch a glimpse of the ink that covers the underside of his arm.

"There's pie, too," I say, pointing to the plastic container balancing on top of the oven dish.

Edward looks genuinely surprised. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"I'm Bella by the way," I say in a rush.

The corner of Edward's mouth ticks with an almost-smile. "Yeah, I know. I'm Edward."

I nod. "Yeah. I've seen you around the building."

Even though he hasn't said much at all, it's still the most I've ever heard him say and I can't understand why. His voice is quiet and calming, smooth but with just enough roughness to be considered masculine. It's a nice voice.

After that I'm not really sure what else to say. I'd really only gotten as far as coming over, but now that I'm here I can't seem to step away.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "So… uh… I hope those jerks didn't give you too much trouble."

Edward's eyes cut away from mine, and he shakes his head. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Cool. Well, thanks. You know, for talking to them or"—my eyes flicker down to his knuckles—"whatever. Next time they come back I guess I know who to call, right?"

Edward's smooth edges begin to harden right in front of me, and for just a moment I can see how some might find him intimidating. "I don't think they'll be back."

"Oh." I chance a look up at him, at the way his jaw clenches. "Yeah. Okay."

Edward looks away for a moment, his hands gripping the containers, and for just a second I take in his appearance, from the way his bare feet stick out from a pair of low slung sweats to the tattoo that's inked across his throat. Yeah, the ratty sweater and old jeans were a poor choice.

"How's the kid?" he says, looking up and very nearly catching me staring.

I smile, glancing back down the hallway toward my apartment. "Emmett? He's fine. He's pretty resilient." I can't help but laugh a little. "I gotta wonder who the adult is sometimes."

Edward nods, but stays quiet. It's not uncomfortable, the silence, but something about him makes my insides twist, and I don't know how I feel about that.

"Well, I'd better get back," I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. "I just wanted to say thank you again."

"Thank you for dinner," he says. I shrug like it was nothing, like I didn't spend all afternoon quietly freaking out over something as simple as a tray of lasagna.

I can feel him standing in the hallway behind me as I walk away, and I have to try my best to remember how to walk correctly and figure out how not to run into something or trip over.

Left. Right. Heel. Toe.

"Bella?"

I turn just as I reach my door. He's still outside of his apartment, the food in his hands. "Any time you need help just let me know."

I smile, and I don't know if it's a trick of the lighting in the hallway, but I think Edward blushes a little.

"I will. Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you, as always, to you for reading and for all of the great reviews. I'm really shitty at replying, but know that I read and appreciate each one. <strong>

**Great big hugs to kitty, rach, astro and rach (yeah, I have TWO of them!)**

**x Wink**


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

* * *

><p>"You can't find someone else to fill in?"<p>

"There's no one left, Bella. Tia, Emily and Jamie are all in Vegas, and I can't get hold of Leah."

I rest my head against the back of the couch, closing my eyes. "She's probably holed up with Sam somewhere," I say with a sigh.

Tania snorts, and I can picture her rolling her eyes, her lash extensions brushing the skin beneath her eyebrows. "Exactly. Sam has the night off, too, so there's no way she's going to come in. Please say yes, Bella. I need you."

It's six o'clock on a Friday evening, and I'm curled up on my couch with Emmett sitting at my feet poring over the pages of _Where the Wild Things Are_, fascinated with the colors and pictures, while I flick through TV channels. My legs and back are aching from a week at the diner, and I was really looking forward to relaxing for a few hours before starting work again.

"Can I have a drink, Momma?" asks Emmett.

"Whatever you make in the first two hours is yours. Tips and all," says Tania.

I've already decided to go in—God knows I need the money—but there's something gratifying listening to her beg anyway.

"Juice?" I ask Emmett. He nods, and I busy myself with pouring his drink as Tania continues to plead with me.

"If you come in early I'll talk Marcus into giving you a Saturday off."

"Oh yeah?"

Now I know she's desperate.

"Sure! Why not. I'll work something out and you can take the night off. Go on a date or something!"

I pour the orange juice into Emmett's cup. "Right. My idea of a date is Emmett and a pint of ice cream."

"I keep telling you that I can set you up with someone if you want. I've got some clients—"

My mouth drops open. "Oh, God no. Tania—no. I'm fine. Thank you."

She laughs. "Okay, okay. But, when you decide to finally get bored of Chunky Monkey, you let me know."

My cheeks are stained pink and I can feel the heat from the blush as it creeps up my neck. I don't know why it embarrasses me to think about dating. I spend my nights around men; flirting, smiling, making conversation. I guess in the end it's all an act. It's not me. It's Rose. The thought of putting the real me out there after almost five years of being alone scares the hell out of me.

"I'll be there at eight," I say finally. "Let me call you back once I've got Emmett sorted, okay?"

"Thank you," says Tania, sighing with relief. "You're a peach. I'll see you soon."

I mumble a goodbye and toss the phone onto the kitchen table. Clearing away the toy cars and picture books, I set Emmett's juice down and sit on the floor beside him. His hair is still wet from the bath and is curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. It's ridiculously adorable and, if he let me, I'd spend hours pulling it straight just to watch it spring back again.

"Can you read the story to me?" I ask, nudging his side gently.

He's not old enough to read it all yet, but nevertheless he crawls into my lap and tells me all about the boy in his monster suit and all the other big monsters. When he's finished, we turn back to the start and I read it to him.

Unfortunately, I do have to get ready for work. An hour later, after a quick shower, I'm hairless head to toe, there's fresh paint on my finger and toenails, and my skin is clean and smooth—exfoliated and moisturized within an inch of its life. I flip my head over, letting my hair tumble forward as I blast it with the hairdryer. From between my legs I see Emmett wander into the bathroom and climb up onto the toilet seat beside the bathroom counter. I lift my head up and smooth out my bangs. It's completely pointless, since I'll have them tucked away under a wig in a few hours anyway, but something about having clean hair always makes me feel better.

I've dressed Em in his Iron Man pajamas, and he's got all of his things packed up for a night with Mrs. Eizadi downstairs.

"What are you doing, baby?"

"Nothin'," he says, watching me and fiddling with the makeup on the counter, opening things and putting them down. Before I know it, he's got a smear of bronzer on his cheek and the pads of the fingers on his left hand are stained pink from my blush.

I turn the hairdryer off, stowing it under the bathroom sink, and pull out a handful of makeup remover wipes for his hands. "You ready to go soon?"

"Can I come with you?" He scrunches his face up as I wipe the sparkly brown streak from his cheek.

"You don't want to see Neda and Amun?"

Clean and tidy again, Emmett turns to frown at his reflection in the mirror. "She doesn't let me watch the dinosaurs on TV."

I ruffle his hair, reaching into my makeup bag for my eyelash curler and mascara. "I'll let you watch your shows tomorrow, okay?"

He doesn't reply, instead content to make faces at himself in the mirror. We're both laughing at his silly faces when there's a knock on the door. I glance down at my watch, and the late hour makes my heart jump. Between messing around with Emmett and tidying myself up, I've completely lost track of time.

"Shit."

Emmett clamps his hands over his mouth, stifling a giggle behind them as I duck out of the bathroom.

"Momma said a naughty word!" he yells, laughing loudly.

"I know," I call back to him, mentally kicking myself. "Momma's sorry. No more bad words, I pr—"

The words die in my throat as I swing the front door open and find Edward standing outside. His hood is up, covering his face almost entirely in shadow. But even without the angular lines on show, I'd know that frame anywhere.

"Edward. Hi."

His hand slides up and he yanks his navy hood back, revealing dark auburn hair underneath.

"Hi."

A cold draft blows up from the stairwell, and I suddenly remember I'm standing there in just my underwear and a ratty pink dressing gown. I pull it tighter around me.

"I brought your tray back," he says.

"Oh." I reach for the glass dish in his hands. "You didn't have to do that."

Shrugging, his long fingers scratch through the hair that covers his jaw, and he opens his mouth to reply but stops short, his eyes fixing on a spot behind me.

I feel Emmett's hand wind around my thigh before I hear him, and when I look down he's staring quietly up at Edward. I place a reassuring hand on the top of his head, and he looks up at me and then back at Edward.

"You wanna say hi?"

Emmett murmurs a very quiet hello, burying his face into my leg.

"Emmett, right?" asks Edward, offering his hand to Emmett.

Something warm and tingly unfurls in my chest as the hand around my thigh loosens, and Emmett steps forward, looking at Edward's hand, more specifically the red raw skin on the back of his knuckles. "Did you get an oops on your hand?"

Edward flexes the fingers on his outstretched hand and nods. "Yeah, I did."

"Did it hurt?"

He nods again.

"When I get an oops, Momma puts the pictures on, and it makes it better."

I place a gentle hand on Emmett's shoulder. "Emmett likes the Avengers Band-Aids, don't you?"

Emmett nods and looks up at Edward again. Suddenly his eyes alight and he starts to wriggle beside me. I have to put my hand on his back to keep him steady. He tugs at my arm until I bend down so that he can whisper in my ear.

"Can we put the pictures on Edward's oops, Momma? To make it better?"

"I don't know if—"

"Please?"

There is absolutely no way I can say no to him when he's like this. He's wide-eyed and has his hands clasped together tightly, pleading with me. I laugh. "Okay. Think you can find them in the bathroom?"

He scampers away, almost tripping over a race car.

Edward and I linger quietly in the doorway while Emmett rifles through the bathroom drawers.

"The lasagna was okay?" I ask.

"It was great. Thank you." His gentle smile, and the way he tugs at his earlobe when he nods, makes my heart do a flip-flop behind my ribs.

"No problem." I clutch the tray to my chest, keeping my robe closed tightly. Again, a moment between us that could be awkward is just quiet. I can't think of anything else to say, but the silence doesn't seem to bother either one of us. He smiles again, looking almost bashful when I smile back.

Emmett returns a second later, holding a fistful of Band-Aids. He's practically vibrating at my feet as he hands them to me.

"Captain America or The Hulk?" I ask, offering them to Edward.

He considers the two Band-Aids in my hand. "The Hulk."

I hand the green Band-Aid to Emmett, and Edward bends down, folding his long legs beneath him. With a tiny bit of his tongue sticking out, Emmett peels the backing off carefully and sticks it gently to Edward's knuckles.

"There," he says with a satisfied smile, patting the back of Edward's hand. "All better."

Edward flexes his fingers again, nodding. "Feels pretty good." He stands, all six-foot-something of him unfolding. "Thanks, man."

Emmett is beaming, and watching him interact with Edward is turning my insides soft.

"Anyway," says Edward, glancing down at the dish that I'd completely forgotten was still in my hand. "I won't take up any more of your time. I just came to give you that."

_Time._

_My time._

_The time. _

"Oh, shoot. Shoot!" I hold a hand to my head, my mind racing. "What's the time?"

Edward pulls back the sleeve of his jacket and glances down at his watch. "Almost seven-thirty."

"Oh, God. I'm going to be so late." I grab Emmett and swing him back into the apartment, practically tossing the oven dish onto the kitchen table. "Do you have your things all packed up? Where's your backpack? Did you get your toothbrush?"

"S'in the bathroom, Momma."

I don't notice Edward still standing in the doorway until I turn around a few minutes later, my bag in one hand and a pair of jeans in the other.

"Did you…" Looking hesitant, he clears his throat quietly. "Do you need a ride somewhere?"

I wave my pants in his direction, tossing the overnight bag onto the couch. "Oh no, I'll call a cab—"

"A cab will take at least a half hour to get here." He shrugs. "Friday night."

He's so right. I don't know how I let it get as late as it is. Marcus is going to hand me my ass if I'm not there early. I take a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as I look at Edward warily.

"You really don't mind?"

His mouth curves up a little. "I really don't."

* * *

><p>Edward waits patiently while I drop in at the Eizadi's. I hastily kiss Emmett goodnight, doing my very best to avoid Neda's inquiring gaze as she spots Edward in the hallway.<p>

"See you soon, baby," I whisper, kissing him one last time.

It's not until we're almost halfway across the parking lot that I realize that I'll be taking a ride in Edward's car. Edward's very shiny, very beautiful car. The inside of the Mustang is just as well kept as the outside. The leather bench seats look brand new, and the interior paneling is clean and in perfect condition. I slide in, resting my bag at my feet.

"You really don't have to do this, Edward."

He shrugs. "I said I don't mind, right?"

And there's that half smile again.

The engine rumbles to life, and I can feel it purring through the whole car. Streetlights flash across the hood as he drives into the bright lights of the city.

"You work for Marcus, right?"

I nod. "Yeah."

We're both silent for a minute or so.

"The work's okay?"

Sighing, I drop my head back against the headrest. The night air smells of rain, and the scent mingles with the leather upholstery and something warm and comforting from beside me. "It pays the bills."

I've long since stopped caring what people think of my life choices, but for the first time in months I wish I worked at a regular bar instead. A bar where I could keep my clothes on, and where I wasn't pretending on a nightly basis to be the fantasy of any number of nameless, faceless men. The fact is, I care what Edward thinks, and the fact that I care makes me uncomfortable.

"Have you been to Blush before, Edward?"

He looks over at me from behind the wheel, his brows pulled together, and I smile in response. I close my eyes, feeling the cold air rush over my face, letting it cool my cheeks. "Of course you have."

I don't know why I keep talking, but I do.

"It's not the best place in the world to work, I know. But it keeps a roof over Emmett's head and food on the table. Marcus isn't too bad if you stay on his good side." I laugh. "Which I'm not, but whatever. I'm pretty good at it, too. I mean, I have regular customers and whatever. Plus the girls are really nice to work with."

_You're rambling. Stop rambling. Good God, stop rambling. _

It's not like I need to fill the silence between us, it's just that being in such close proximity to him, alone, in a confined space, is making me almost light-headed. Talking seems like it's the only thing I can do to keep myself present, to stop myself from floating right out the window.

I don't know what's come over me.

"What about you?"

He head checks before changing lanes. "What about me?"

"What do you do?"

His long fingers fiddle with the heating vents, and I suddenly feel a gust of warm air wash over me. The change in temperature makes me shiver.

"Cold?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Are you going to answer my question?"

We stop at a red light, and Edward adjusts the rearview mirror and shrugs. "I work for a friend. Doing odd jobs. Fixing things."

Talk about vague. "Things. Fridges? Cars? Bikes?"

It takes him a moment to respond. I watch from the corner of my eye as he rubs a hand almost pensively over his beard. "Cars mostly."

"So you're a mechanic?"

The light turns green and he shifts the car into first gear. "Yeah. I guess. How old is Emmett?"

I smile. "He'll be five soon."

"He seems older."

"Tell me about it."

The city flies by while something quiet and vaguely bluesy plays on Edward's radio. The vent at my feet keeps my toes warm while the night air keeps my face cool and my head clear. When Edward pulls into the parking lot of the club, I lift my overnight bag onto my lap, clutching the soft material to my chest, trying to hide my thumping heart behind it. I know I need to get out of the car, it just feels harder than it should to actually do it.

"Thanks."

One hand rests on the steering wheel as the car idles, the other reaches to turn the volume on the radio down. "Any time."

There's a long heartbeat of silence. Edward casts his eyes over the bag on my lap before meeting my gaze. I smile in response, because for some reason that's all I seem to be able to do when he looks at me. His gaze feels like the sun on my skin—warm and focused—and its intensity both frightens and excites me.

My fingers pull the door handle, and I slide my wobbly legs out. "Bye, Edward."

* * *

><p>My mind is spun all night.<p>

I can't get my head on straight no matter how hard I try. Every guy has a tattoo, and every pair of hands is too small, too weak, and too sweaty. One of the other dancers shoves a shot of whiskey into my hand, and I throw it back, hoping to shake off the haze that surrounds me, but it doesn't work. It barely touches the edges of whatever it is that is balled-up inside my chest, filling my mind with silly ideas. I tell myself that Edward is just being nice, that anyone in his situation would have done the same thing, and that I'm getting myself worked up over nothing.

But you can't tell a heart not to feel what it does. There are certain emotions that no matter how much you try to ignore them demand to be felt anyway. Lust is one of them. And how could it not be? A good looking–_insanely good looking_–guy pays you a little attention you can't help but feel the flutter and heat of attraction. It's a totally normal reaction.

Right?

By the time I clock out and drag my tired butt out of the club, I'm so out of it I almost don't notice his car sitting under the lights across the street. My stomach churns with anxiety, but my skin prickles with anticipation; it's a strange clash of sensation.

"Need a ride, babe?" asks James, one of the bouncers, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulder.

The Mustang's engine turns over with a roar, cutting through the still morning air.

I shrug out of James' touch, and shake my head. "No. I think I've got one. Thanks though."

He pouts dramatically, shrugging it off. "Whatever, girl. See you tomorrow night."

"Night."

As I approach, Edward leans across to unlock the door before settling back into his seat. I slide into the welcome warmth of the car, dropping my bag at my feet.

* * *

><p><strong>Ooh, yeah I did.<strong>

**Thank you to Kitty, Rach, Astro and Rach for being the best team a girl could ask for. Really. **

**Thank you to everyone who has left a review over the past few weeks. RL has been a bit of a bitch, so I'm down on the replies, and I apologize for that.**

**See you next week. On time. Promise. **

**x Wink**


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

* * *

><p>I've never had to tell Tyler to keep his hands to himself. He's always been sweet, respectful, kind of attractive, and a gentleman to boot. He's become one of my regulars, and I find that I actually don't mind seeing him. In fact, I look forward to it. For him it's all about the human contact and the idea of a pretty girl paying him attention. He books the same private room each week, orders the same drinks, and pays me the same tip each time. We talk about anything and everything and if all of my clients were nice as him, my job would be a whole lot easier.<p>

I slip in through the heavy curtain to find Tyler already sitting in the soft lounge seat with a glass of bourbon in his hand. He looks up and I smile, always happy to see a familiar face in a city full of strangers.

"Hey, sweetie."

His smile is bright and his eyes are heavy. "Hey, gorgeous."

Leaning in for a brief hug, I press my fingers to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath them. "Long day?"

He shakes his head. "Long week. Eighty hours since Monday."

My eyes widen with concern, and I place my open palm against his scruffy cheek. "You're going to make yourself sick."

That's the nice thing about someone like Tyler; I don't have to pretend. My affection for the guy is genuine—it's not the same as lust or real attraction, but there's something gentle and almost boyish about him that calls to the mother in me. He's just begging for someone to take care of him, and in my own special way I do. He just pays me for it.

He shrugs, slipping the expensive suit jacket from his arms and draping it onto the seat beside him. "Let's not talk about work tonight," he says with a tired smile. "How's tricks?"

"Same old," I reply as my thumb slides down the screen of my mp3 player. Tyler's eyes light up when the song I pick starts up. I grin, flicking my hair over my shoulder. "An oldie but goodie, right?"

He watches me from his seat, his eyes drawn to my legs. Tyler is a leg man, and tonight I'm in a pair of sky-high, patent leather heels. They pinch my toes and make my calves cramp, but they also make my legs look long, and it's nice to be able to look guys in the eyes sometimes.

I don't fuss too much with Tyler. I dance a little, peeling my gauzy camisole off before sliding onto his lap. I rock and I grind, I press my hands to his chest and his arms, using his shoulders for leverage as I swivel my hips over his lap. He smiles through the whole thing, his hands respectful and his eyes soft as he rests his head back on the seat.

Something tells me that if I weren't here the guy would be fast asleep in two seconds flat.

Still, we talk a little—just the easy stuff: the weather, the basketball, the new flashy restaurants he's been to, and it's simple and nice.

But in the end his time come to an end, and he slips me my tip with a thank you before disappearing out into the club again. It's as easy as that.

Most of the time.

I don't know if there's a full moon approaching, but Saturday night the club is full of men absolutely begging to sink their money into top shelf drinks and expensive company. By one o'clock the place is packed, and I'm doing all I can just to stay on my feet. My calves are killing me and my lower back hurts, plus the push-up bra I'm wearing is pinching under my arms and if I weren't already being paid for it I'd rip it off.

Marcus has me on the main floor for a little while, sitting in lap, booking by dance card so to speak. About midnight I finish my turn on stage and spend a little time "mingling" before swapping out with Alice and taking my shift in the private area.

Blush is all about luxury settings and the illusion of complete privacy. Each room holds either a single seat or a circular booth that can hold up to four at a time. The clients wait their turn in a plush waiting area in the centre, where waitresses keep them plied with drinks so they're more likely to empty their wallets into our waiting hands. The private areas are watched over by security at all times, and there are cameras in each room with a feed back to security and Marcus' office.

Again, it's all about the _illusion_ of privacy.

A group of men—well, almost men—are waiting in the lounge, their eyes wide as the girls walk by.

"John?" I ask sweetly, fluttering my false lashes beneath my blonde bangs.

A timid-looking guy in the centre raises his hand. "Th-that's me."

I saunter over, letting him and his friends get a good look, and take a seat on the sofa beside the groom.

"Someone told me you're getting married next week."

He nods, swallowing hard enough that I see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

"Congratulations," I say with a coy smile and a hand on his knee. "Are you excited?"

His mouth makes a perfect little 'o', and his eyes pop open. "Like, am I turned on?"

His friends erupt into a fit of laughter, and I giggle. "No, silly. About the wedding!"

The guy lets out a breath and nods. "Yeah, I guess," he says with a blush. I laugh. The shy ones are always fun.

"Well, how about we have a little fun before you're officially off the market?" He nods. "Your friends were nice enough to pay for a private dance for you. Let me find somewhere so we can get started, okay, sweetheart?"

I pass a waitress on the way down the hall, and she promises to keep the stag party well liquored. Something about their designer shirts and expensive jeans tells me the boys aren't quite self-sufficient yet. There's always money to be spent when it's not yours, and to be honest, I don't really care where the money comes from, as long as they spend it.

Most of the curtains are drawn, the rooms behind occupied. It's a busy Saturday night, and private dances, especially with a group, can be good money. Not even bothering to check first, I draw the curtain back on room three, expecting it to be empty. A yelp escapes my lips before I have a chance to catch it, and my hand flies to my mouth.

Tania is on her knees in front of some guy who just looks up and grins at me as I stand there in shock.

"You wanna taste, baby girl?" he says.

With a wet pop, Tania lifts her head from his lap and turns to me.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper. "I didn't…"

With a look of contempt, she reaches back and yanks the curtain closed again, leaving me standing in the hallway.

I'm speechless.

There's always the possibility that Tania knows the guy, that they're friendly. But it's common knowledge that she's been screwing Marcus, so I have to think that there's also the distinct possibility that he's just some random guy. My head swims with questions like, is he paying her? Is he clean? How long has she been doing this? And worst of all, does Marcus know?

I force the thoughts to the back of my mind, trying my best to snap back to reality. I've seen some eye-opening things since I started working for Marcus, and the fact that this is what really shocks me really says something.

Thankfully, the groom ends up being an absolute doll. By the time I'm finished with him, his blush reaches from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, disappearing into his shirt.

"Thanks," he says quietly as I lead him back out to the waiting room.

"My pleasure," I reply with a wink. "Good luck next week."

He's barely sitting before one of his friend stands, his hand in the air like a school kid. "Me next!"

Unfortunately, he's not quite the gentleman his friend is. When I push my ass back into his lap, his hands appear on my thighs.

"Watch your hands, handsome," I say, tucking them by his side again.

He apologizes, and I continue.

He watches with rapt fascination as I straddle his lap and press his head between my breasts. It's not my favorite thing to do, but it tends to keep his kind placated for a while. Of course, this isn't enough, and as soon as his head pops up again he grabs a handful of my ass. I stop dancing and grab his hands with mine. His eyes widen.

"Last chance, buddy," I warn, sounding a whole lot more direct than I did a moment ago. "Keep your hands to yourself, or there'll be trouble."

He nods vigorously. "Okay, sorry. Sorry."

He's got about five minutes left, but he's really pushed his luck, so I slide right off his lap and continue the dance in front of him, just out of reach. As he said he would, he keeps his word and his hands to himself.

Until he doesn't.

Figuring he can get one grab in before I leave the room, he attaches a sweaty hand to my right breast.

"Hey!" I yell, slapping it away. "Mike!" The curtain is whipped aside in half a second, and Mikey—a six-foot, two hundred-pound bouncer—steps in.

"Hands," I say, pointing at the guy, who's suddenly not so cocky when faced with a pair of fists the size of dinner plates.

Without so much as a word, Mikey rips the guy out of his seat by the back of his shirt. He stumbles and pleads, but it falls on deaf ears. "You were told not to touch," is all Mikey says as he drags him through the waiting room. He points a meaty finger at the bunch of guys, including the shocked groom.

"All of you," he booms. "Out."

I don't need to follow them to know what happens. I've seen Mikey toss men a good eight feet out the side door and onto the bitumen.

"You good?" he asks when he returns.

"I'm fine," I say, patting him on the bicep that's the size of my head. "Thanks."

You'd think guys like that would rattle me, and at first they did. I'd spend the rest of the night jittery and upset, scared that every guy after that would be the same. But now, after being at Blush for almost six months, I've seen it all. It's become part of the job, par for the course. Do I like it? No. But it happens. The alcohol we so readily ply them with turns some guys into heroes, into cavemen, or just into idiots. The fact of the matter is, no matter how big they think they are, or how tough they think they are, there's always someone bigger and tougher on the other side of the curtain just waiting for the opportunity to beat a little sense back into them.

The rest of the night is uneventful. I make decent tips, and Marcus is actually happy, which means that the girls are happy, which means that everyone is happy.

Shut-out rolls around quickly, and even though I should know better, as I'm packing up I can't help but wonder if there will be a car waiting for me tonight.

The ride home the night before had been quiet except for the purr of the engine and the low hum of the radio.

_"__You didn't have to pick me up," I'd said, smiling at him in the grey light of early morning._

_He turned to me briefly, something soft and sleepy about his expression. "I was awake anyway."_

_I laughed. "Liar."_

_I watched from the corner of my eye as his hand reached for the gearstick between us. I had to hide my smile when I noticed the green Bandaid still stuck to his knuckles. The grey morning rolls past as the Mustang purr through the foggy city streets. _

_Instead of parking the car, he had practically driven me to the door._

_"__You're not coming in?" I'd asked, immediately feeling stupid. This wasn't a date, you idiot. _

_Edward shook his head. "Early start."_

_I'd wanted to ask what was so urgent that it had to be done at six a.m. on a Saturday morning. But I'd swallowed my curiosity instead. "Thank you for the ride." _

_His reply had been a soft shrug of one shoulder, a gentle smile curving his lips up a little, and the look had stained the back of my eyelids, appearing every time I closed my eyes._

I feel stupid for hoping he's there again tonight. Hope can be a dangerous thing—especially when it comes in such attractive wrapping. But that little spark buried deep inside of my chest, that tiny little blossom of… something… that's ignited inside of me, feels good. And as stupid as it feels, I want to hold on to it, even if just for a moment.

Marcus slips me my envelope as I'm leaving, and I'm pleased to find it contains exactly what it should tonight.

"Good work with those assholes in the stag party, Bella," he says, nodding stoically. "See you tomorrow night."

I can't help but smile. That's about as close to a thank you from Marcus as I'm ever going to get. "Thanks."

"Nice work tonight, babe," says Marcus, tapping Tania on the backside lightly. She smiles, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

It doesn't escape my notice that her envelope is especially thick.

I step outside, trying my best not to look like I'm searching for a black Mustang, and then trying to hide the streak of disappointment that shoots through me when it's not there.

The morning is verging on icy, and I pull my coat tighter around me. It feels good to be in flat shoes again—albeit a little lower to the ground—but my legs are screaming for a hot shower, and my bones ache to be in bed.

Alice follows me out, and the two of us stand at the curb together, her smoking a cigarette, me with my arms wrapped tightly across my torso in an attempt to keep warm. We both watch as a group of drunken girls stagger past, all giggles and messy hair. Heels dangle from their fingertips, and they all look worse for wear. They spot Alice and me waiting outside the club, and the happy-go-lucky demeanor fades.

"Sluts," says one, too loud to be a real whisper.

I ignore them, but Alice flips them her middle finger.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask her quietly, ignoring the girls as they stumble away.

She nods, the cigarette dangling from her mouth.

I mash my lips together, trying to think of the best way to ask without getting anyone in trouble.

"Have you noticed anything shady going on lately?"

Alice snorts. "You mean more shady than usual?"

A cab pulls up to the sidewalk, and I open the back door. "Well, yeah."

The cherry from Alice's cigarette disappears into the foggy morning air as she flicks it aside. "Like what?"

"You gettin' in?" yells the driver.

I toss my bag onto the back seat. "Yeah, just give me a minute." I turn back to Alice. "Like any of the girls taking money for"—I let out a shaky breath—"sexual favors? Blow jobs and stuff?"

A little crease appears between Alice's eyebrows. She tucks her dark hair behind an ear, looking at the ground.

"Ali?"

"I've heard some things. That's all."

"Heard what?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "Marcus has been throwing private parties. Leah said he asked her to go; said she could earn some extra money on the side."

"Did she go?"

Alice shakes her head. "I guess she spoke to one of the other girls first. She didn't say exactly what was happening, but I got the idea that Marcus was paying some of them to sleep with guys."

"Oh my God."

"Did you see something?"

I nod, unwilling to give away any further information that could get me in any more trouble.

"Yo, doll, the meters running here!" calls the cabbie.

"Okay, okay." I reach out and take Alice's hand, squeezing it between both of mine. "Please don't get involved with any of that shit, Alice."

Alice shakes her head, and her dark hair falls over her face. The gesture makes her look her age—so young and naïve. "No way."

"Promise me."

She rolls her eyes, but nods anyway. "I promise."

My head is still spinning, even as I slip quietly into the Eizadis' apartment to pick up Emmett.

I pull back the covers and slip my arms under his back. I almost groan with the effort of lifting him from the bed, doing my best to shoulder his backpack and mine without dropping him. He's dead weight in my arms, his limbs limp with sleep, his head lolling against my shoulder.

I climb the stairs slowly and stand outside my front door for what feels like forever, fumbling with my bag, trying to find my keys. It's never easy, but for some reason tonight I just can't seem to juggle everything and work my hands at the same time.

"Want some help?"

My arms tighten instinctively around Emmett, and I spin around, my heart racing.

Edward takes a step back. "Sorry," he says quietly, lowering his hood.

"You scared the crap out of me," I whisper, smiling shakily, even though my heart is just about ready to leap out of my mouth.

He motions to my front door. "Can I help?"

"Oh. Um… could you grab the keys out of my bag, please?"

I lift one of the arms I have around Emmett, and Edward gingerly slips his hand inside my handbag, searching for my house keys. As soon as he does, I regret it. I can't imagine the things he's likely to find in there: Wet Wipes, candy wrappers, old packs of gum, a thousand old receipts, tampons, and probably one of Emmett's toys.

Thankfully, he finds the keys quickly.

"The silver one."

As usual, the hallway is shadowy, but even so when he turns to the door I catch a glimpse of a cut beneath his eye that looks fresh, the skin around it almost purple. He pushes the door open and then steps aside for me. When he looks up I can't hide my curiosity as I look over his face, cataloguing the new cut on his cheek and the small nick on his bottom lip.

"Everything okay?" I ask, hoisting Emmett up higher on my hip.

Swallowing, Edward takes a little step back, allowing me to enter my apartment. He looks genuinely thrown at my concern. He nods, looking somewhat flustered and uncomfortable.

There's a long, deep silence between us.

Even with this latest round of marks on his otherwise lovely skin, there's still something soft about the way he looks at me. It makes me feel exposed like nothing has before.

"Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I'm making hamburgers."

The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them. I wait for him to politely decline. Heaven knows he must already think I'm a total flake—stripper by night, single mother by day. But his answer surprises me.

"What time?"

"Six?" I practically whisper, the words caught in my throat. I clear it quickly, repeating myself. "Six? It's early, I know, but Emmett goes to bed at seven thirty, and I have to be at work by nine."

"Six is fine," he replies with a single nod, handing me my house keys back. "I'll be here."

I smile, and his eyes flicker to my mouth momentarily before moving away. "Okay."

He flips the hood on his jacket up and takes a step back toward the stairs. "Okay."

* * *

><p><strong>Slowly, slowly. <strong>

**Thank you to my girls Rach and Rach, Kitty and Astro. Any mistakes are mine. **

***The "oldie but goodie" that Bella references in this chapter is 'Girl Like You' by Edwyn Collins. Classic.**

**Thank you for reading. As always, i'm so very grateful. **

**x Wink**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Six**

* * *

><p>I sit the bowl full of hamburger mix on the kitchen table beside Emmett. "You have to mix it really well, okay?"<p>

He smiles almost manically, his hands hovering over the bowl. "With my hands?"

"Did you wash them like I asked?"

Emmett nods furiously, holding his hands out for closer inspection. I know they're clean but check anyway—who knows what the kid's had his hands in. Satisfied, I gesture to the bowl of minced meat and onion. "Go on then."

He immediately digs his hands into the mix, giggling as it squishes between his fingers. It would have taken me two and a half seconds to mix it myself, but Emmett loves to help, and it keeps his little hands out of mischief.

I've intentionally kept both of us busy in a vain attempt to stop myself from completely freaking out, but there's only so much cleaning that can be done in our tiny apartment.

I don't know which part of my sleep-deprived brain thought it was a good idea to invite Edward over for dinner, but as I glance at the clock for the eighteen thousandth time I'm becoming more certain that it was a really bad idea. I've contemplated canceling at least twice, but can't bring myself to do it. While part of me screams that inviting a stranger into my home is a bad idea, a louder, more insistent part of me craves the company of another adult.

And not just any adult—an Edward-shaped adult.

What's more frustrating is that up until I met him, I'd made the decision not to care about what people think of me and of my choices. My life hasn't been easy, and at times it's definitely not what others would have chosen for themselves, or for their children. But I do what I do to keep Emmett safe and cared for, so to hell with what everyone else thinks of me. But for some stupid reason I'm worried about what Edward thinks. What will he see when he looks at my apartment? When he sees my well-used second hand furniture, and the walls that are water-stained beneath the peeling wallpaper? For so long I've been living in this little bubble I've created that the idea of letting someone in, of letting someone see inside, is terrifying.

There's also Emmett to think about. He's had very little contact with men since his Dad, and although he seemed to be comfortable enough around Edward when they met, I have to be sure he's going to be okay with him in our home.

I watch his hands disappear and reappear into the mincemeat.

"Looking good, baby. Well done." He smiles, giving the mix one last poke with his finger. "So, you remember Edward from down the hall?" I ask.

He looks up. "With the pictures on his hands?"

I smile. "Yeah. He's going to come over for dinner tonight. What do you think?"

A thoughtful look crosses Emmett's features. "Does Edward like hamburgers?"

"I'm not sure," I reply, trying to read Emmett's reactions. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Emmett nods, looking serious. "I guess."

We shape the meat mix into patties ready for cooking.

"Does Edward go to school like me?" he asks.

"No. Adults don't go to school, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I renember."

"Edward fixes cars."

"Cars like in the movie? Like Lightening?"

"Sort of, yeah."

He's quiet for a moment while I clean off his hands.

"Is his hand all better?" he asks. So many questions! But it can only be a good thing.

"I'm not sure," I reply. "You'll have to ask him when he comes over."

"He got The Hulk."

I nod, making sure I've cleaned off any stray bits of beef mince.

"The Hulk make my oopses feel better."

I kiss his clean fingers. "He sure does. Why don't you put your cars away then we'll read some of your book, okay?"

He pouts. "Do I have to?"

I turn him around, facing him toward his bedroom. "Yes."

"Mommaaaaa!" he whines.

"Go. I'll be in there in five minutes."

It's mid-afternoon by the time he settles down for a nap, and I can't help but be thankful for a little space to clear my head. I love my son more than anything in the world, but sometimes a girl needs to shower without an audience. Even so, I keep the door open a little just in case.

The hot water eases some of the tension in my muscles, and I can almost feel them relax beneath my skin. The pipes protest and whine and the water pressure is practically non-existent, but with Emmett asleep for at least another half an hour I relax into the spray, enjoying the feeling of the heat on my skin. I take my time going through my routine, the preparation that has become second nature now. I exfoliate and shave, I shampoo and condition—the whole time letting my mind wander.

Of course, the first thing on my mind today is Edward.

I'm doing my best to approach thoughts of him like an adult, but the blushing, the butterflies, the shot of attraction that rushes through me whenever he's around, it all makes me feel like I'm seventeen again. It's been so long since I've felt anything like it that it's almost foreign, like my body has to relearn how to deal with it without falling into a heap of melted skin and bone.

Things with Emmett's father, Eric, were different—a different time, a different life. I was so young, and everything about our relationship had been all-consuming as teenage love usually is. My whole world revolved around him, around _us_. Until Emmett came along. By then things with Eric and I had changed. I never thought I would love anyone the way I'd loved him.

Now, almost four years later, feelings like lust and attraction, feelings I was sure had been buried the day Eric left, are beginning to resurface, and I have no idea what to do with them.

I sigh, turning the faucet off. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. It's nothing but a passing crush. It's just freakin' hamburgers for God's sake!

Emmett sleeps soundly as I blow out my hair, but wakes just as I finish getting dressed. He rubs a fist into his sleepy-eyes, his blonde hair sticking out every which way. "Can we have hamburgers now?"

I laugh, smoothing his hair down. "Soon, baby."

* * *

><p>At exactly six o'clock, as I'm slicing up the fillings for the burgers, there's a knock on the front door. Every part of me leaps to attention, and I have to make a concerted effort to keep from running to answer it. Emmett however, is at the door before I am.<p>

"Can I open the door?"

Stopping just in front of the door, I tuck my hair behind my ears and blow out a breath to calm myself.

"Sure, go ahead."

I slide the chain lock off, and Emmett reaches up to open the door. It swings open and al at once I realize I am so very unprepared for this.

The sight of Edward standing in my doorway makes my stomach do a flip. The long-sleeved navy thermal he's wearing makes his skin look vibrant, almost luminous. He's so good looking that it's almost alarming. I'm not sure where to look; from the worn jeans to the dark hair that covers his jaw line, to the bright green of his eyes, it's all too much.

I step aside to let him in, trying to stand on wobbly knees as he brushes past, bringing with him the smell of soap and clean, warm skin. Images of him and hot, soapy water flash before my eyes, and I have to hide the blush that creeps up my neck.

_Calm. Down. _

"Say hello to Edward, Emmett."

Emmett creeps out from behind me, his blue eyes wide. "Hello," he says quietly.

"Hey," replies Edward.

I usher him in, and as soon as he's inside I can see him cataloguing everything from my lumpy brown sofa to the pile of kid's toys in front of the TV. He doesn't hide his curiosity in the slightest, and watching take it all in makes me want to crawl up inside that attractive head of his just to see what he's thinking.

But then he looks at me.

He looks at me and the weight of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze make me happy that I can't read his mind. His nearness and the reaction it creates inside of me is enough, I don't know if I would live through hearing what he's thinking.

I tug my fingers through my bangs nervously, trying to swallow my sudden anxiety. "Would you like a drink? I've got water or juice."

"Water's fine," he replies, and I busy myself with finding a clean glass.

"Do you like hamburgers?" asks Emmett, his head tipped to one side as he follows Edward and I to the kitchen.

Edward nods. "They're my favorite."

Emmett is ecstatic. "Me too!" He bounces a little on the spot before coming around beside me. "Are they ready yet?"

"Almost," I say. "Go and wash your hands please." He takes off for the bathroom, leaving Edward and I alone.

"What about you?" I ask, gesturing to Edward's hands that are tucked into the pockets of his jeans. "Are your hands clean?"

I meant it as a joke—I'm sure Edward washes his hands—but as Edward looks down at his hands something dark flashes behind his eyes, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. I watch as he balls his hands into fists and releases them, his eyes clearing as he looks at me again. "Probably not clean enough."

I look down at his hands and back up at him. There's a beat of silence in which I get the distinct feeling that Edward and I are talking about different types of dirt. Memories of the argument between he and the men outside our building flash through my mind, and I wonder if that wasn't the only time Edward has been involved in something like that.

My eyes flick to the tiny cut on his lower lip and the bruise that still darkens the skin beneath his right eye.

When I meet his eyes again, there's intensity behind his stare that makes my cheeks flame and my chest tighten. It feels like he sees everything. Like every little thing I keep hidden, tucked away for safe keeping, is exposed to him. That alone is enough to set the alarm bells ringing.

I have so much to lose to someone like Edward—so much to keep safe.

"All clean!" says Emmett, startling me as he appears between Edward and I.

"You better sit down," I say, gesturing to the table and tearing my eyes from Edward's. "Emmett will steal your dinner if you're not careful."

Emmett giggles, oblivious of the weight in the air around him, as he lifts himself up into his seat. "I'ma steal your burger, Edward!"

Edward takes a seat beside Emmett, folding his long legs beneath the small table. He looks so completely out of place in my tiny kitchen, his knee jiggling nervously as if he's ready to take flight at any moment.

Meanwhile, I'm trying my hardest to remember how to breathe normally.

Dinner is quiet, but nice. Although in honesty, the food could taste like sawdust and I wouldn't realize.

My eyes flick between Edward and Emmett, lingering on Edward's long fingers and the tip of his tongue as it swipes ketchup from his lower lip. Emmett meanwhile has turned into a chatterbox—which is new. He's usually Chatty Kathy with me, but I hadn't expected it with Edward around. He sits in the chair across from Edward, his short legs swinging as he chatters away, his eyes taking in every last detail of our guest. As Emmett and Edward talk quietly, I have to wonder if something inside of my quiet-souled little boy sees something similar in Edward.

I can barely get a word in as Emmett asks a million and one questions, the shy little boy I know so well long forgotten.

"Where's your momma?"

Edward swallows, sitting straighter in his chair. "She's at her house," he replies. "Probably cooking dinner like your momma did."

"What about your daddy? Do you have a daddy?"

Edward nods, and I watch as he picks the slices of tomato out of his burger with his long fingers, laying them to the side. "He's at home with my mom."

"I have a daddy," says Emmett, and I swear that my whole body tenses at mention of Emmett's father. "Momma said he was bad so he had to go away, and—"

"Emmett. Enough." It's a quiet warning, but one that he listens to, thankfully.

Em continues with barely a pause. "Yeah, it's just me and my momma."

Edward's eyes meet mine across the table, his look brief and apologetic. "That's cool," he says toying with the last piece of his hamburger bun. "Your mom's pretty cool."

My ears flush so hot i'm surprised they're not glowing.

"She's okay," replies Em with a shrug, and I can't help but laugh. Edward stifles a laugh, too, hiding behind his hand as he rubs it across his mouth gently.

"Momma said you fix Lightening like in the movies," says Emmett around a mouthful of burger.

My hand flies to my mouth to stop from spitting my food out as I laugh. "No, honey, I said he fixes cars _like_ Lightening McQueen."

"Do you?" asks Emmett.

Edward nods. "You like cars?"

Emmett shrugs, picking at the remains of his dinner the same way Edward is. "I like dinosaurs the most. But, I like cars, too."

Edward's brows raise with interest, and I realize that he seems to be just as fascinated with Emmett as Emmett is with him. He watches with an almost-smile as Emmett licks the last of the ketchup from his plate.

"Emmett," I warn, raising an eyebrow. "Manners."

He puts his plate down. "Sorry."

"Maybe I'll take you for a ride in my car one day," suggests Edward.

"Does it go as fast as Lightening?"

Edward smirks a little, the attractive quirk of his upper lip sucking all of the air out of my lungs. "Faster."

Emmett's eyes widen, and he looks back and forth between Edward and I. "Faster?" he whispers. Edward nods. "Can we go now? Can we, Momma? Please?"

"Baby—"

"Pleeeeease? Please, please, please?"

"Thanks," I mouth to Edward, who lowers his head, hiding a smile. "Another time, okay?"

He pouts. "Promise?"

"Another time, Emmett." I stand, clearing the plate from in front of him. "How about you go and watch some TV, okay, buddy?"

Placated, Em slides off his seat and scampers to the TV.

I don't know what I expected Edward to do. While I figured he wasn't the eat-and-run kind, I definitely didn't expect him to roll his sleeves and help me with the dishes.

His forearms are slim but strong, covered with the kind of tattoos you could look at for hours, trying to find where one ends and another begins. They wind around each of his forearms, and while one ends at his wrist, leaving his hand clean, the back of his other hand is adorned with a large blue sparrow. Watching his hand paper and disappear into the soapy water, I wonder briefly how much of him is covered with these pictures, what parts of the skin underneath his clothes are clear of ink, and what parts are covered with his stories.

"Bella?"

"Hm?"

I look up to find Edward holding his hands out. He gestures to the plates in my hands.

A blush creeps up my neck at being caught looking, but if he notices he doesn't say anything. I step behind him, rolling my eyes at my stupidity behind his back. I settle against the sink beside him, the dish cloth in hand. He swoops the cloth over the dishes methodically, his hands turning pink in the hot water.

"How long have you worked for Marcus?" he asks, his voice terribly quiet for someone who fills the kitchen up so completely.

"About six months. How do you know him?"

He drops his gaze. "I don't really. I only know _of_ him."

"Oh."

We're silent for a beat, with nothing but the sound of the bubbles in the sink popping.

"Would you like a ride to work later?"

Warmth unfurls in my chest, seeping into my veins like honey. I'm not used to someone doing nice things for me all the time. "No. But thank you." I pick a plate up from the drying rack. "I'm happy to catch a cab."

Edward nods but keeps his head down, his gaze a little too intense for washing dishes. He rests another plate in the rack, his arm brushing mine.

"You don't have a car?" he asks.

"I do, but it's broken."

He lifts one brow, his head still turned to the bubble-filled water. "Broken?"

"Yeah. Broken," I reply, nudging his side gently, teasing. "It's the timing belt, I think."

"What makes you think it's the belt?"

I consider telling him that my ex and his friends spent their lives working on cars. That during my teenage years I'd spent so much time hanging around them that I've somehow gleaned the barest amount of knowledge—enough to know that it's the timing belt. But Eric and thoughts of that time in my life don't belong here tonight.

"Well, it stalls all the time, and the engine makes this loud, whining noise."

Both of his eyebrows rise this time. He looks a little impressed. "Sounds like you're right."

I can't help but laugh a little. "Yeah, well. Don't be too impressed, I googled it."

"I could fix it, you know."

"I know. But if I could afford to have it fixed I would have."

Edward pulls the plug from the sink, and the bubbles swirl and eddy until the water disappears completely with a gurgle. "I wouldn't charge you, Bella."

I stack Emmett's plastic plate into the cupboard beside the sink. "And I wouldn't let you do it for free, Edward. It's a nice gesture, but it's too much."

I cringe inwardly at my stubborn tone.

"It wouldn't be for free," he says quietly, turning to rest against the sink next to me.

"Oh?" I lean back, resting my hands on the counter top.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Edward's mouth, lifting it just a little at one side. "I'd take some more of that lasagna as payment."

I laugh, and Edward's smile widens just a little bit more. It's then that I decide that I really want to kiss him. Something about his mouth, and the way he uses it, makes me want to press my lips against his. The thought causes a flash of desire to wash over me, it burns through my blood like fire, and makes my head spin with the intensity.

If this is what happens when I _think_ about kissing him, I can't imagine what it would feel like to do it.

As if he feels the sudden burst of heat through me, Edward's gaze softens, lingering just a beat on my lips before he turns away again. This new feeling of desire leaves me nervous, and I can't help but wonder what it is he sees when he looks at me like that.

"Thank you for dinner," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know the last time I had burgers so good."

I laugh. "They were just hamburgers. And it's fine. I don't know the last time we had company. It was nice."

When Edward looks at me again, his hands balled up beneath biceps. "It was nice."

I've never hated the word _nice_ so much in my life.

The sound of my phone ringing breaks the silence between us, and as much as I would love to stay in the quiet little bubble with Edward, I have to pry myself away.

I swipe my finger across the screen to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Miss Bella?"

I look down at the display on my phone, frowning at the unfamiliar number before pressing it back to my ear.

"Neda?"

"I'm so sorry. So sorry," she says, sounding frantic. "I no look after Emmett tonight. Amun is in hospital. Is sick."

"Oh, no. Is he going to be okay?"

I see Edward approach in my peripheral vision.

"Doctor is running tests now. Stupid Doctor here know nothing. They test and they test and then nothing!"

"Is there anything I can do?" I ask, my heart aching for her. I know she plays the grumpy housewife a lot, but she and Amun have been married for over forty years and I can't imagine how she's feeling.

She mumbles something that's a mix of Farsi and English, and I can imagine her shaking a gnarled fist at passing hospital staff. "No, Miss Bella, you must look after Emmett. I cannot look after tonight. So sorry."

"Don't be silly," I reply. "It's fine. Call me when you know more, okay?"

"Okay. Give Emmett big kiss for me."

"I will."

I hang up, staring at my phone as the consequences of the phone call begin to sink in.

"Is everything okay?"

I hadn't expected Edward to be so close, so when I turn and find him right beside me, warmth flushes my cheeks. He's _so_ close. His brows are pulled together slightly and his lips are turned down a fraction, and I'm so close that I could probably count each of his long dark lashes.

"Yeah." I swallow hard, trying to find the voice that's stuck somewhere in my throat. "Um… not really. Mrs. Eizadi's husband is in hospital."

"The couple from downstairs?"

"Yeah. They look after Emmett on the weekends while I'm at work."

Understanding seeps into Edward's expression. He tucks his hands into the front pocket of his jean. "Oh."

Without Neda or Amun there's no one to look after Emmett while I'm at work. It's a precarious situation only having the one babysitter, but they're all I have. Especially at eight thirty on a Sunday night.

"Is there anyone else you can call? Edward asks. "Family?"

My answering smile is weak at best. "No. It's just us." I try a little harder to smile. "It's fine. I'll just call work. Marcus will understand."

The thought of having to call Marcus makes my stomach churn with anxiety. He will most definitely not understand. But what else is there to do? It's not like I can take Emmett into work with me.

"I can stay and look after him."

"Oh, no, Edward, I couldn't—"

"I don't mind."

I glance over at Emmett. He's on his stomach with a pile of Matchbox cars, his attention split between them and the movie. "I don't know, Edward."

He's close again, right beside me. "It's up to you," he says quietly. "But I'm happy to put him to bed here and wait with him until you get home."

I worry the inside of my cheek with my teeth. I really can't afford to lose a night's wage. It is only a few hours, and Edward is right; Emmett will be asleep within the next few hours.

But can I trust him?

I feel his warm fingers press against the back of my hand. It's just the slightest pressure, a feather-light brush against my skin, but I feel it all the way to my toes.

"You can trust me, Bella."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to everyone for your kind words. To Rach, Rach, Kitty and Astro for their support. And to Rob for being the best kind of inspiration a girl could want.<strong>

**And now, a little shameless plugging for something close to my... heart? The Twilight Kink Fest is back and better than ever. I won't ramble about it too much, but i'm super excited and can't wait to see the fics that come out of it. Check out twi kinkfest. Blogspot dot com dot au for all the info, or TwiKink on Twitter. **

**x Wink**


End file.
